A Pastry Shop Christianity?

This is the sermon for February 8, 2026, based on 1 Corinthians 2: 1-16

Francis of Assisi

In 2013, Pope Francis chose to visit the site believed to be where Francis of Assisi stripped himself of everything—no inheritance, no status, no fine clothing. He wanted to follow Jesus, and his understanding was that doing so required poverty.

The Pope, who chose the name Francis precisely because of Francis of Assisi, said these words:

“In recent days the newspapers and media have been stirring up fantasies. ‘The Pope is going to strip the Church… of what?’… But we are all the Church! All of us!… and we must all follow the path of Jesus, who himself took the road of renunciation… He chose to be humiliated even to the Cross. And if we want to be Christians, there is no other way… Otherwise, we risk becoming Christians in a pastry shop, saying: what beautiful cakes, what beautiful sweets! Truly beautiful, but not really Christians!” —Pope Francis, Assisi address, 2013

When discerning the sermon for today, the phrase “Christians in a pastry shop” struck me. What does that mean? I thought about a version of Christianity full of sweetness and spectacle. It reminded me of bakeries I’ve visited in Puerto Rico—temptations everywhere! Everything beautiful and tasty. But is Christianity supposed to look like that? Is it meant to be decorative but not deep, fashionable but not faithful? Are we called to comfort while forgetting Jesus’ sacrifice—or is there something more we are invited to?

Today, I want to explore what it means to move away from a “pastry shop Christianity” and toward the kind of Spirit-filled, cruciform faith that Pope Francis dares to demand and that Paul describes in today’s passage

The Scandal of the Cross

The church in Corinth is famous for many things—chiefly, for being in conflict. It was a church in a city obsessed with wisdom, success, eloquence, and prestige. Members formed factions around their favorite teachers—some following Paul, others Apollos or Peter. Paul, in his letter, calls them out because they seem to be losing sight of Christ.

What’s striking is that Paul doesn’t do this by claiming to know more than Apollos or Peter. He doesn’t present himself as eloquent or wise by worldly standards. He speaks to the church as a witness—someone who has seen something scandalous:

“For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

Instead of pointing to himself, Paul points to the scandal of the Cross—not because it sounds pious or poetic, but because it is a protest. It’s a scandal and a protest precisely because it challenges everything the world values. It is a symbol of sacrifice instead of power, of losing instead of winning.

To a world trained to chase victory and control, the Cross is absurd. But, as Paul writes, to those who are being saved, it is the true wisdom and power of God (cf. 1 Cor. 1:18–25). And it is the Spirit of God that enables us to understand these gifts.

The Spirit, Not Spectacle

Paul reminds the church that his message did not come with flash or performance:

“I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power” (v. 3-4).

In saying this, Paul reminds us that faith is not born out of intellect or rhetorical brilliance. Our wisdom can often lead to cowardice. Our intellect is sometimes fickle and random—so much so that we’re tempted to believe we are more than we are. We fall for the adulation! But adulation leads only to an echo chamber, where we can no longer distinguish what is good and just from what is corrupt and harmful.

As Christians and as a Church, we cannot fall into that trap. It is not eloquence that gives the Church its power. It is not intellect, branding, strategies, or arguments. Winning debates does not make us faithful. It is the Spirit, given by God, that allows us to discern God’s will. It is the Spirit that molds us to be Christlike. And most importantly, we need to remember that God gives freely: salvation is free, love is free, grace is free. And that frees us to live in gratitude, no longer bound by what Pope Francis calls “worldliness.” (Mundanalidad)

The Danger of Worldliness

When I was in Christian school, I was told not to be worldly. I couldn’t drink, smoke, dance, have sex outside of marriage, or use bad language. These were the signs that I was “of the world.”

But I don’t think this is what Pope Francis meant when he warned of the danger of worldliness. That would be to easy and dependent on me!

Based on his teachings, he referred to worldliness as a form of internal decay. It tempts Christians to value success, appearance, prestige, and wealth over humility, service, and faith. He compares it to leprosy or cancer—diseases that erode from within. Worldliness compromises the integrity and mission of the Church.

It is not always obvious. It’s subtle—but dangerous. When the Church adopts these values, its witness is weakened from the inside out.

Worldliness is opposed to the Cross. Jesus “stripped himself” of glory and privilege, choosing servanthood, humiliation, and suffering. Worldliness clings to ease, comfort, and control. It resists sacrifice. It avoids the wounded and the poor. It does not want to follow Jesus to the margins—it prefers thrones over crosses.

That is why Pope Francis speaks of “pastry shop Christians”—those who want a sweet, decorative, easy version of faith. One that looks nice on the outside but lacks depth and substance. This kind of faith avoids the hard truths of the gospel. It is consumerist rather than transformative. It centers on self, not Christ.

In his boldest words, Pope Francis says worldliness is “the enemy of Jesus”—not merely a flaw, but an adversary. He calls it “the cancer of God’s revelation.” Because worldliness doesn’t just obscure the gospel; it opposes it. It replaces the humility of Christ with pride, the self-giving love of the Cross with the self-serving logic of empire.

And when we try to serve both God and empire, God and money, God and power, God and self-interest—when we try to balance the gospel with the applause of empire—we risk becoming exactly what Francis warned against: “Christians in a pastry shop.”

The Mind of Christ

In the final verses of this passage, Paul goes deeper:

“Those who are spiritual discern all things… For who has known the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ.” (1 Cor. 2:15–16)

This isn’t just a call to imitate Jesus on the outside. It is a call to let Christ dwell in us through the Spirit. Christ’s life must flow through us in a way that bears witness and transforms the world around us.

This is not superficial religion. This is transformation from within.

To have the mind of Christ means:

• Choosing humility over pride

• Choosing service over domination

• Choosing love over hate

And choosing a love that costs us more than chocolates and heart-shaped cards. A love that flows from sacrifice. A love that showed itself most clearly… on a Cross.

A Call to Witness to the Cross

So we return to the question: Are we pastry shop Christians? Are we seeking sweetness without sacrifice? Christ without the Cross?

Pope Francis ended his Assisi message with a prayer:

“May the Lord give us the courage to strip ourselves of the spirit of the world… for it is the cancer of God’s revelation. The spirit of the world is the enemy of Jesus.”

And centuries earlier, Paul had already said: “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

Yesterday, I attended the funeral of Willa Fae Williams. We were told she collected many things—but most notably, she collected crosses. At the end of the service, we were invited to take one home so that her witness might live on.

I went to select one, but Helen Hastings reached the table before me. She gave me a cross—for the church, she said. And so, this cross becomes part of our church today.

The Rev. Willa Fae Williams embodied the life Paul and Pope Francis describe—a life of witness to the Cross. She served the poor. She counseled the rejected. Her music brought people closer to God. She did not live a pastry shop Christianity, but one led by the Spirit.

And so, my prayer for us, as Christians and as a Church, is this:

That we might divest ourselves of the illusions of success and the comforts of control. That we might reclaim the scandalous beauty of the Cross. That we might be a Church not of sweets and status, but of humility, service, Spirit, and Christ.

Because the gospel is not and will never be just a dessert.

It is bread broken.

It is a cross carried.

It is a life laid down.

And it is the power of God to save.

Amen.